


Little Lion Man

by Kamikrazy



Category: Persona 3
Genre: Angst, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:12:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4279833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamikrazy/pseuds/Kamikrazy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Akihiko had ever wanted was to be strong enough. But no matter how hard he trained, he still wasn't sure what that meant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> The title for this fic is taken from Mumford & Sons' song of the same name—I got lots of Aki/Shinji feels from it when I heard it for the first time!
> 
> I've referenced the male protagonist on purpose, both for reasons that might come up later in the story (I'm not too sure just yet) and because I've always wished that the male protagonist could open up social links with the guys on the team!

When he had been very small, Akihiko had dreamt about the faceless figures of the parents he would never know; of sunny days and playing in the ocean with Miki, and other things he barely remembered as an adult. He had stopped remembering his dreams after the fire, after a nightmare about a burning world and screams he’d never actually heard. He’d never missed them, and he still woke up sometimes with brief flashes of images and lingering impressions hanging in his mind; feelings that he usually had to consciously put aside or risk starting his day in a mood he wouldn’t be proud of. He figured that was close enough.

When he’d been in high school, when they’d been wrestling with the world-ending crisis that they hadn’t even begun to understand until it was too late, he’d woken up frustrated more often than not. He’d roll out of bed with heat burning at the base of his skull that would only dissipate after a long jog and a cold shower. When he’d finally managed to get Shinji to rejoin the effort, the frustration had abated—he hadn’t really noticed at the time—but then October had hit and the sound of gunshots and the copper scent of blood had chased him awake for years.

The fear, sorrow, and pain that had followed him to wakefulness had taken more than a simple workout to dispel. With Shinji in the hospital and even Kirijo’s best medical specialists pessimistic of his chances, Akihiko had needed to seek out a new level of discipline to keep the guilt and pain from making it impossible to get out of bed in the morning. He’d shifted his entire focus to getting strong enough to help save the goddamned world and Caesar had been born of his cold, hard-edged determination to be better the next time he was needed.

And then they’d fought Nyx, and though they’d all done their best and fought their hardest it had taken Minato making the ultimate sacrifice for them to win. Akihiko had known it for the awful, self-absorbed thought it was the second it had popped into his head, but with the whole group reeling from Minato’s sudden passing and the constantly looming possibility of Shinji slipping away overnight too, Akihiko had needed to do something, because he obviously hadn’t been strong enough.

He’d left Japan less than a month after Minato’s death. He’d stayed at first because they’d all been made closer by their grief, then he’d tried to force himself to keep staying for Mitsuru’s sake, but she’d stayed strong and he’d been left to his own devices too often. He’d made the decision to leave the country one day when he’d been sitting at Shinji’s bedside, and he’d only told Mitsuru that he was leaving. She hadn’t said anything, and she hadn’t seen him off at the airport, but she had sent him a satellite phone by courier in time for him to pack it. The note with it had said “Just in case”.

The thing had sat at the bottom of his bag for a little more than two years. He’d dutifully pulled it out, checked and charged it every time he was somewhere with electricity, but he’d never once even thought about using it to place a call. It had more or less become a reminder that he might one day go back and try to pick up the pieces of his life again, even though he wasn’t sure he’d know what they’d look like if he did.

One day, it rang.

He’d been passing through Myanmar on his way to Thailand from India. The Yangon nightlife had been shocking after weeks of small villages and dirt roads, but not as shocking as the mechanical trilling coming from his pack. Mitsuru had been trying to get a hold of him for a little more than a month, but thanks to the monsoons that had been interfering with telecommunications along wide swathes of the countryside, she hadn’t been able to get through.

Shinji had woken up. He was well on the road to recovery. He’d been weaned off of the Persona suppressants while he’d been out. He was getting strong enough to start working on controlling Castor properly.

Akihiko booked a seat on the next flight to Japan.


	2. Like Old Times

Time had seemed to telescope. The bus ride to the airport, the wait through customs, and the five and a half hours he spent on the plane all collapsed into a single moment, leaving him standing in the Arrivals area of the Tokyo International Airport with a rolling, uncomfortable dizziness passing through him in waves. He paused at a water fountain for long enough to chase the sterile, filtered air dryness out of his mouth, letting the sounds of his native language and the still-present 3 a.m. bustle wash over him. He was finally back, with nothing but a small bag full of his belongings, his emergency credit card, and a pocketful of miscellaneous currency he hadn’t bothered to exchange.

He was just starting to consider the question of how he was going to make his way back to Iwatodai when the sound of someone calling his name caught his attention. It hadn’t been a loud sound; if he’d been anyone else, he might not have heard it. But no matter how long he’d been gone, he had the feeling he’d always be able to tell when Mitsuru was trying to catch his attention. She was easy to spot through the crowd, her vibrant hair stood out almost as much as the bubble of space that surrounded her. People always stood aside for Mitsuru Kirijo.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment. They both just looked at each other, taking in the changes. He knew he’d gained a few kilos of muscle, an inch or so of height, and a fair number of scars. He could feel her evaluating what she could see, adding her impressions of his worn combat-style boots, the fatigues he’d bought for the convenience of the multiple pockets, and the cheap T-shirt he’d bought in Yangon so he’d look semi-presentable as he made his way through security. He was a far cry from the designer label wearing student he’d been when he’d left. But she’d changed too, and more than just her fashion sense. The motorcycling bodysuit and massive, plush fur coat were a little surprising, but the iron-solid look in her eyes was...comforting, in a way. The slight thrill of the challenge he could see in them made him feel a little more in his element, a little more stable.

“Hey. Long time, no see.”

Her eyes softened, just a little. He knew he looked like a savage brawler now, but he still felt more or less like himself. He hadn’t turned into a fan of violence (at least, he didn’t think he had), he’d just been desperately seeking out a purpose, a focus for the energy that drove him to be _better_.

“Welcome back.”

He had to smile at the sound of her voice; just like it had been before. The greeting brought back a million memories of walking through the Gekkoukan dorm doors, cementing the fact that he’d come _home_ in his mind.

They didn’t exchange any more words on their way out of the building. Akihiko fell into step behind her without feeling the need to ask if he could get a ride, and she led him up to the sleek, black motorcycle she’d brought without explaining that she’d probably been tracking his passport all over Asia since he’d left. He pulled on the helmet she handed him and settled in behind her; she didn’t start the engine until he had the bulk of his arms wrapped carefully around her slim waist.

It felt good to be back in the open, to feel the air whipping past as Mitsuru finally pulled out of the airport parkade and into the sparse traffic leading back towards Iwatodai. She’d never had him as a passenger like this before, but an aching sense of familiarity filled his mind, his thoughts skipping back to the last time he’d had his arms wrapped around her; the quiet moment of shared comfort they’d awkwardly stolen and never really spoken of again. He tried his best to stay calm, to stay in control, but the knot of tension that had been building in his gut since he’d picked up Mitsuru’s call didn’t seem about to abate. The ride was over far too quickly for his liking, ending with them in the parking lot of the Kirijo building. Even in the dead of night, the glass-and-steel exterior was lit up like a beacon. Akihiko was just as sure that there were still employees hard at work inside as he was that his unexpected arrival hadn’t forced Mitsuru out of bed—she had probably stepped away from her desk early just to come and get him.

“You’ll need to find accommodations,” Mitsuru’s voice was as matter-of-fact as it had ever been as she pulled her helmet off and handed it to the ubiquitous staff member waiting for them in the building’s parkade. “I’m willing to put you up for a little while, but I’m sure you understand why that can’t be a long-term arrangement.”

“I do.” Akihiko nodded, rolling one of his shoulders as he passed off his own helmet and started following her into the building. “I’ll go apartment hunting first thing tomorrow. Thanks for having me tonight.”

“It’s partially for convenience’s sake,” Mitsuru shrugged, glancing at him over her shoulder as she led them to a hidden, private elevator and got them access with a keycard attached to her belt. “I have a few things to discuss with you, now that you’ve returned.”


	3. Lingering Doubts

“Though the initial ‘incident’ is over, there are still a lot of questions about the Dark Hour that need answering.”

Akihiko paused where he’d been towelling his hair dry, looking over to Mitsuru where she was perched carefully in a large, comfortable-looking leather chair, sipping a cup of tea. The jasmine and rose scent that clung to his skin after making use of the soaps in her shower mingled with the scent of the black tea in a way that made him think it had to be deliberate, somehow, but he wrangled his wandering thoughts carefully so he could pay her the attention she deserved.

“Our laboratory technicians have managed to reverse-engineer the technology recovered from the original Kirijo facility and allow us to create small, controlled areas in which the effects of the Dark Hour can be replicated, to the point where we can summon Personas,” she considered him through her thick eyelashes—on any other woman, the look might have seemed seductive, but he knew it for the veiled evaluation it was. “We have been working with all of the former members of S.E.E.S under these conditions, including Aragaki now that he’s going through rehabilitation. I would like to know if you would be willing to participate in our trials as well.”

“Sure.” The answer sprung to mind before he really had to think about it. “It’ll be a good training opportunity. I’ve been gone long enough that I might be kinda rusty, though.”

“You couldn’t be worse off than Aragaki,” Mitsuru shook her head, her nose wrinkling for a moment in what he’d learned years ago was one of the only real signs of displeasure she let slip in relaxed company. “His...disagreements with Castor have damaged several of our facilities. We’re still in the process of making repairs to a few of them.”

Akihiko couldn’t help but chuckle softly, the tension in his gut lightening a little. If Mitsuru was more focused on a bit of property damage than Shinji’s health, he was sure nothing too severe had happened.

“I’ll try to show a little more control with Caesar,” he smiled, taking a moment to hang his towel up in the bathroom before rejoining Mitsuru in the sitting room.

“We’ll see.” She gave him another of those long, piercing looks, her fingers toying absently with a lock of her freshly washed hair. “Tomorrow evening, after you’ve had the chance to rest a little. I’m sure you’re fatigued.”

“Sure, sounds good.” Akihiko nodded, sighing and turning his head enough to look out of one of the large windows. Mitsuru’s penthouse presidential suite had an impressive view of the city...he could even see the lights coming from Port Island, the soft haze of dawn starting to lighten the horizon off to sea. “On that note, I suppose we should both be getting to bed.”

He glanced back over towards her when she moved, the sound of her silk dressing gown shifting catching his attention in the otherwise silent room. “That would probably be for the best. Goodnight, Akihiko.”

The sun had honestly started to rise over the horizon by the time Akihiko got up out of his chair and headed for the guest room he’d been offered. The earliest risers of the city would soon be getting up and starting their daily commutes to wherever they worked...he couldn’t help but wonder if Shinji was one of them, if the other man would be getting ready to drag himself out of bed as Akihiko eased himself into his own, this time a car ride away instead of a time zone.

The thought followed him into an uneasy sleep that the smell of gunpowder and wet concrete chased him back out of a few hours later.


	4. Restless

Clothes shopping, shoe shopping, checking for apartment listings, checking for job listings, banking...it was all shockingly mundane and yet somehow comforting. Akihiko had never intended the rest of his life to be a long line of training destinations, he’d always meant to come back home, but it didn’t mean that he wasn’t reeling from a little bit of culture shock. The highly-organized chaos of his home city was worlds away from the feeling of the mainland’s countryside villages. He spent most of what was left of the day at Hakagure, looking over career choice pamphlets he’d picked up at the little book store nearby after polishing off a bowl of ramen. He glanced up every time someone came in through the door, a part of him hoping to see Shinji for all that he didn’t even know if he was ready or not.

Akihiko couldn’t help but sigh, staring off into the middle distance and toying absently with the screwed up paper his chopsticks had been wrapped in. He wasn’t even really sure what was making him so hesitant to find the other man for himself…aside from a tiny, niggling sense of resentment at the back of his mind. Once Shinji had dropped out of high school, Akihiko had always been the one doing the chasing; he’d always been the one to go out of his way to hunt his friend down, to try to convince Shinji to come back—to at least be safe—even if he didn’t want to re-join the SEES efforts. He’d never wanted to admit it to himself then, but occasionally he’d felt resentful. He and Shinji had always been together before the incident, and for all that he’d understood—at least on some level—that his friend had been hurt and terrified of himself afterwards, it had felt really close to being abandoned when Shinji had just tried to disappear.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts before he could dwell on them. He’d been a kid then…the events of his senior year in high school felt like a lifetime away, even if it had only been a few years. He’d changed. He’d worked _hard_ to improve himself.

But...

He felt like he’d just stepped right back into the skin he’d tried to leave behind.

He didn’t have a goal, he didn’t feel like he had a _purpose_...sure, he could probably get an office job, be a salary worker and make a comfortable, normal living, but...then what? When Mitsuru had told him that the Kirijo Group was continuing to research the Dark Hour, he’d felt a faint thrill of hope—the hope that he’d still be useful in that particular way he had been while they’d been fighting their way up the tower of Tartarus. He had been one of a select few who could harness a power that was unreachable and incomprehensible to normal human beings. He had finally been able to really excel at something worthwhile. Before he’d been asked to join S.E.E.S. even he’d known that boxing would only ever be a hobby for him, that it would be something he would always be great at, but that he’d probably never be a professional. He’d never wanted to aim for celebrity; honestly he’d never wanted it. Being noticed and celebrated had always been overrated, had always seemed like a perversion of his real goal: to be strong. He hadn’t wanted to be on television, he’d just wanted to be able to protect what he cared about with his own two hands.

He scratched roughly at the short hairs on the nape of his neck, fighting the slow build of irritation he could feel rising in his chest. He tried, he tried _hard_ to keep from overthinking things. He tried _so hard_ to keep focused, and for a while it had worked, but…

Akihiko got up from his seat fast enough that the chair he’d been sitting on almost toppled over, its legs clattering against the restaurant’s tiled floor. He’d go for a jog. The bags he’d gotten while shopping would make good equipment; unbalanced and oddly shaped enough to keep him focused on keeping them from getting tangled in his legs, heavy enough to give his arms a bit of a workout as he ran. He just needed to find a fresh objective. Something new to commit himself to. That would do to keep him from feeling lost. At least for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry it's taken me so long to update this! Life kinda got away from me! 
> 
> Comments are always appreciated :)


	5. Control

Akihiko used the keycard Mitsuru had loaned him to get back into the penthouse, left his things in the guest bedroom, and immediately stripped to take a shower. Jogging all the way back to the Kirijo building had been a fantastic idea; the burn of his muscles and the slight euphoria he always felt after a workout mixed with the waterfall rush of hot water out of Mitsuru’s fancy ceiling-mounted shower head and helped him clear his mind. He braced his forearms against the marble tile, closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing as the water sluiced over his head, sliding down his back.

_The only thing I can control is myself._

He repeated the mantra to himself a few times before lathering up and scrubbing himself down brusquely. As long as he kept getting stronger, as long as he could exert control over his body, his feelings, and his thoughts, he’d be alright. He had to believe that in that, if nothing else, he was doing as much as anyone could.

He dressed casually when he was done drying off and relaxed for a while, letting his mind wander as he flipped through the channels on Mitsuru’s huge flat screen television, just letting the sounds and the images wash over him. The news went over the weather forecast for the next week, some rumors regarding some small town politician...nothing too riveting, but it ate up time, and Akihiko felt better to be actively consuming something rather than just staring out the windows, watching the sun move and the city bustle below. He watched the last half of a Featherman R episode when he stumbled across it, making a mental note to try and congratulate Takeba for landing a television role when she took her helmet off in triumph after defeating some kind of space armadillo, giving him a chance to recognize her. He felt a brief twinge of guilt for having forgotten to ask Mitsuru about what the rest of the old group had been up to while he’d been gone...but for all that they’d been through, they’d never really gotten close.

The soft buzz of the suite’s intercom caught him off guard, and he fumbled with the remote for a moment trying to switch the television off, cutting off an ad describing the benefits of some weight-loss beverage as one of Mitsuru’s maids let herself into the suite.

“Good evening, Mister Sanada,” she curtseyed professionally, her short pigtails catching his attention as they bobbed along with the movement. “Madam Kirijo has requested your presence at the research facility, and I have come to act as your guide.”

“Thanks.” Akihiko smiled, getting to his feet and brushing himself off a little self consciously. The fluttering feeling in the pit of his stomach picked up again, the knowledge that Mitsuru was going to put him to the test making him anxious to push himself, to _prove_ himself.

At least that was a kind of anxiety he could handle.


	6. Test

“I really  _ am _ sorry, Mitsuru.”

“...It’s fine. I should have expected it.”

Akihiko brought a gloved hand up to his face, faking an itchy nose to hide the sheepish, self-congratulatory smile that tugged at his lips. He hadn’t thought that he’d be able to punch  _ through _ the sensor she’d set up, especially not with the bulky gloves she’d provided for him, but it felt good. He hadn’t put himself up against any high tech equipment in a while, and besting some Kirijo tech was an achievement when a lot of it was meant to accommodate Aigis’ inhuman strength.

“Between you and Aragaki, it seems like I should just begin expecting some degree of property damage.” She shot him a tired, accusatory look, shaking her head as some of the lab technicians cleaned up the mess he’d made. “I think, however, we can just assume that you’re in good enough physical condition to move on to the Dark Hour simulation.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to say that.” He huffed softly, slipping the gloves off and putting them aside. He’d have preferred his own, but they were still at the bottom of his pack upstairs and he hadn’t wanted to be rude when Mitsuru had gone through the trouble of providing him with a pair. She led him out of the room as soon as his hands were free, her heels clicking against the cement floor as they made their way down a wide hall lined with reinforced steel doors.

“I’ll ask that you do nothing but summon your Persona.” The look she shot him was cold enough that he forced the smile off of his face, trying to look as businesslike as he could. He didn’t want her to rethink her decision  _ now _ , especially when she led him into a room with a bank of electronics and—most importantly—a familiar looking aluminum-skinned briefcase. “This testing room hasn’t yet been equipped to deal with Caesar’s abilities; I had a feeling that making you wait for  _ that _ would be difficult.”

“I know how to be patient,” Akihiko huffed, reining himself in as best as he could, doing what he could to look around instead of stare as Mitsuru unlocked the case and pulled out an Evoker.  _ His _ Evoker. He’d recognize it anywhere, having memorized every scuff and nick on the metal. She just gave him another of her looks, one of many iterations of her cool, evaluating gaze that somehow managed to remind him of all of the times he’d tried being ‘patient’ in the past. All of the nights he’d spent repairing his already repaired gloves while he’d been waiting for his collarbone to heal… “I  _ do _ . I just don’t always like it.”

“I suppose that’s true.” She smiled a little, holding the Evoker out to him holster and all. He took it and strapped the belt around his waist. “The simulation lasts for exactly sixty seconds of real time. It will feel longer to you, but I’m sure you remember the sensation. The monitoring equipment will alert me if there is some kind of obvious anomaly, but I won’t be in direct contact with you otherwise. This is just supposed to be a warm up of sorts.”

"Got it. Short session, nothing special." He nodded, rolling his shoulders to limber up and stepping towards the door to the next room. Mitsuru keyed in a command at the console to let him pass.

The door closed with a soft hiss. Akihiko took a moment to look around, but there wasn’t much to see. The room was about thirty feet square, its walls were covered in what looked like ballistic shielding, but everything looked newly installed. The most remarkable thing about it was the height of the ceiling and the stark whiteness of the recessed lights. Even if he hadn’t known Mitsuru could monitor him, he’d have felt like he’d been put under a microscope.

A low chime sounded from a speaker mounted somewhere nearby. Akihiko took a deep breath, his hands curling into loose fists by his sides as the chime repeated itself. He felt his heartbeat quicken. A final tone sounded, a sharp, high note that pierced the air before cutting off with a crackle as the simulation started and the oppressive weight of the Dark Hour filled the air. The lighting stuttered off, replaced with a sickly greenish glow from what seemed to be phosphorescent panels on the floor. The air went from dry and hospital sterile to a cold, clinging dampness.

Everything remained perfectly still. Even though a part of him expected to hear the gurgling of a Shadow, he knew he was the only living thing in the chamber. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deep to calm the slight nausea from the change in atmosphere, and reached for his Evoker.


	7. Dark Hour

The first time Akihiko had summoned his Persona, he had collapsed. The shock of the Evoker going off had made his vision go grey, his knees had given out, and if it hadn’t been for Shinji, he probably would have fallen flat on his ass. He’d never forget the boneless feeling of his limbs, the charged scent of ozone, the tightness of Shinji’s grip, or his first glimpse of Polydeuces hovering overhead. It had been the first and only time his Persona had spoken to him, promising him strength the likes of which he’d never experienced before.

He’d made a vow to keep standing from then on, to prove that he was willing to work to deserve the strength Polydeuces was willing to share with him. He’d shouldered as much as he could, pushed himself to never stop improving, fought his own limitations until his muscles shook and his lungs burned.

After all of that, it was surprising to find himself on his knees during a ‘warm up exercise’. He struggled to his feet, holstering his Evoker with one shaking hand as he brought the other up to wipe cold sweat off of his forehead.

“ _You fell. Did it hurt?_ ”

The hairs on the back of Akihiko’s neck rose, his eyes widening as his head shot up and he saw... _himself_ . A him he barely recognized, but _him_ all the same. He’d been a small kid, but he’d never really had a good idea of _how_ small...the white-haired boy standing in front of him barely came up to his waist. His faded t-shirt was too big; the collar hung low and the loose arms drooped to his skinny, knobbly elbows. The shorts looked like they fit, stopped just above knees that looked like they’d been freshly scraped.

Akihiko stared, his teeth clacked together when he finally remembered to close his mouth. The younger him fidgeted uncomfortably, stared up at him, bit his lower lip.

“What the hell…?”

“ _I_... _I’m you_.”

Akihiko could have laughed. There was no mistaking the kid for anything _but_ his younger self, but…

“That’s impossible.”

“ _I am though!”_ A tight clutch of horror caught at Akihiko’s stomach as the younger, smaller version of himself started to tear up. The eyes...the eyes were different, gold-colored instead of his grey ones, but they were still big and watery and he had been such a _crybaby_ when he’d been a kid, hadn’t that been what Shinji and Miki had always said?

“This is some kind of trick...or joke.” His voice sounded tight, strangled. Akihiko tried to regulate his breathing, calm the nervous hammering of his heart, his eyes scouring the dark room for some kind of answer.

“ _I’m_ you _! I_ am _!”_

Akihiko squared his shoulders, forcing himself to remember that the Dark Hour had always felt more urgent, that _everyone’s_ emotions had run wild when there were Shadows around. Mitsuru had explained it once, said something about the link between instinct and Personas, that the intense feelings were part of how the Evokers worked. It all seemed hazy now, like his brain couldn’t keep up with him, not when faced with the memories of all the times _he’d_ felt like the child version of himself looked: frustrated, hurt, angry.

“ _Sh-Shinji would believe me…_ ”

“Don’t.” The sudden wave of anger surprised him, had him stepping forward before he knew what he was doing.

“ _I m-miss Shinji...a-and Miki…_ ” His smaller self didn’t seem to have heard him, a red flush rising to his small, pale cheeks as big tears started gathering in the corners of his gold eyes. “ _I’m so l-lonely...a-and it’s all m-my fault..._ ”

“Stop this. Right now.” It had to be a Shadow. Something had to have gone wrong. This was just some kind of monster’s ploy to make him drop his defenses. It wasn’t so far fetched, was it? They’d never understood the dangers of the Dark Hour, not all of them, not where they’d come from.

“ _I always l-let people down! I’m s-scared!_ ” The cold, damp air started to build a charge; the acrid ozone scent of lightning filled Akihiko’s nose as he bore down on the tiny figure rubbing at its eyes with both fists, smearing tears and worse across its face as it sobbed. “ _I’m n-never good enough! I’m a-always too late to help! W-What am I doing w-wrong?!_ ”

“SHUT UP!”

The air thickened, buzzed; flickering sparks skittered across the paneling on the walls in short, blue-white bursts. Akihiko’s shout seemed to get swallowed by a low, pulsing hum; like the sound of some huge machine trying to come to life. His hands were shaking where they were clenched in old, soft cotton, tight enough that it creaked a threat to tear.

“ _This is all you are._ ” His childhood face went completely expressionless, tears and snot still smeared in glossy tracks against its skin. Akihiko felt the air leave his lungs all at once as the feeling that he’d failed some kind of test sank into his bones. “ _It’s all you’ll ever be_.”

The lights snapped back on with a suddenness that left him blind. A mechanical voice said something he didn’t register, his eyes locked on the point where his other face had been, where those gold eyes had been staring straight through him.

  
The simulation was over.


	8. Climb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _I LIVE_.

“Akihiko, you have to _stop_!”

Tenth floor. His lungs ached already but he couldn’t tell if it was from exertion or the rib-crushing tightness of his chest. Mitsuru was doing a good job of keeping up with him, even though she’d fallen behind by half a flight of stairs. It was impressive that she could climb them so well, even in her high-heeled boots.

“ _Akihiko!_ ”

It was strange to hear her voice so strained. She didn’t usually yell, she didn’t usually need to. And he _did_ feel a little bad for making her do it. He just couldn’t stand still. He was fairly certain he’d left her behind, he couldn’t hear her footsteps behind him anymore. Fourteenth floor. He was making good time.

Deep breaths. It felt like he couldn’t get enough air. His heart was hammering in his ears, louder than it should have been. He had to move, to push, or it felt like he’d shake apart, like the blood pounding through his veins would split his skin, crack his bones like water splitting stone.

Twenty first floor. He could feel the burn of lactic acid building in his thighs. He’d stop when his legs couldn’t hold him up anymore. Discipline. He just needed more discipline. If some monstrous apparition was going to call him weak, if he really _was_ still weak inside, he could get stronger with training, with hard work and _control_ and _discipline_. He hadn’t traveled, hadn’t built himself, hadn’t fought so hard all this time to stay weak, to give up. No matter what anyone said. He was not a child. He would not cry and wait. He would not be a victim.

Thirty fourth floor. His mind was starting to go blissfully blank. Stairs were a reality he could happily accept, the thudding of his shoes a steady false heartbeat pulse of his feet on concrete. This was real. This was immediate and it was something he could do. Something he could achieve _now_. Maybe he could make it to the roof. Fifty more floors wasn’t _impossible_. Not with a little dedication. Getting to the helipad would be a good challenge. The wind would feel good on his skin.

He wasn’t sure what floor he was on anymore. The edges of his vision were turning grey, his shoulder thudded briefly against the wall as he turned the corner onto a landing. The jolt made him pause, stagger a little. His eyes stung. His hand came away wet when he rubbed at his face, but he couldn’t tell if it was sweat or something else. The thudding of his heartbeat was uncomfortably loud as he came to a stop, his eyes falling closed for a moment. But...that wasn’t just the sound of his heart. There was also the frantic thudding of footsteps from ahead. Somebody approaching from above.

“Oi. Aki.”

Shinji looked thin. His cheeks were a little more hollow than they’d been the last time Akihiko had seen him, his hair a little longer. He was also breathing heavily, his lips set in a thin line.

“I...need air…”

Nothing. No response. Akihiko huffed, bringing his hand up to wipe his eyes clear again and pushing away from the wall to keep walking.

His body lurched, his stomach dropping briefly as the world spun and his knees gave out.

But he didn’t hit the floor.

Shinji really had lost weight. Akihiko could feel the angular plane of the other man’s shoulder digging into his ribs, even through the padding of their clothing. Of course Shinji had caught him. Shinji always did.

_He’d always needed to._

“Fine. You want air, let’s get some air.”


	9. Fight

The fire escape door clanged shut behind them, the sound jarring enough to catch Akihiko’s attention as Shinji dragged him into the quieter, carpeted main area of the floor. They were just a little too wide standing hip to hip, he was just a little too unsteady on his feet; Akihiko’s hip bumped against a few cloth-covered cubicles as Shinji half carried, half pushed him towards the elevator bays. The relative silence would have been painfully awkward if Akihiko had been able to actually hear it past the roaring of his blood and the intermittent ringing in his ears. Even if he’d known what to say, the tightness of his chest made him feel like he wouldn’t be able to muster up the breath to say it.

The faint pinging of the elevator arriving on their floor filtered through the haze just enough to keep him from stumbling as Shinji dragged him forward and into it. Akihiko fought not to gag as the sweet scent of perfume hit his nose, adding just that little bit too much extra stimulus. A quick, nervous clatter of shoes against the marble tiled floor took the smell with it when the elevator came to a stop at the next floor.

Akihiko could feel himself shaking and his fists were clenched so tightly that his nails were biting into his palms. His throat felt tight, his knees liquid, and his head ached as his ears refused to pop as they ascended. It felt like someone had scooped his brain out of his skull and replaced it with the sludge that had always just sort of _appeared_ during the Dark Hour, thick and foul and clammily cold.

His stomach lurched again, his knees buckled, and for a moment Shinji was the only thing keeping him upright at all. He felt the other man sag under his weight, felt the risk that they’d both fall, and forced himself upright suddenly enough that they almost pitched the other way, the world blazing white for a quick moment as though lightning had struck. He heard Shinji swear but his voice sounded like they were underwater and suddenly they were moving again, jostling through another pair of doors and it was _cold_ and there was _wind_ and _light_ and his legs finally just gave out, he collapsed to the concrete and dragged Shinji down with him as he filled his lungs in shuddering gasps. It took too long for him to start feeling like himself again, for the world to slow down and for him to open his eyes and tug free of Shinji’s grip, his knuckles scraping against the concrete as he braced himself.

He hadn’t gotten that shaken since the fire. Since he’d fought every effort to drag him out of the burning building until he’d started choking on his own rising panic more than the smoke and his voice had gone hoarse from shouting his sister’s name. He hadn’t had the chance to get that scared when Shinji had been shot...everything had gone from bad to worse so quickly and there had been so much else to worry about that he hadn’t had the time for hysterics. He’d had the world to save. There was no such distraction for him now.

“Jesus fucking...are you _done_?”

The faint sound of a police siren, tinny and artificial sounding thanks to the wind and the height they were at, caught Akihiko’s attention for a moment, slowly overtaking the whining pulse of panic in his ears. He focused on his breathing; in through his nose, out through his mouth, slow but still shaky. Better that than the sudden taste of bile on the back of his tongue. He hadn’t wanted his first conversation with Shinji after so long to be like this. Hadn’t wanted to start off on the defensive. Hadn’t wanted to feel so raw.

“...Sure. I’m ‘done’.”

He knew his tone for a mistake the second the words fell from his lips. Felt that old, worn out pattern fall into place again. Any time they’d ever tried to be concerned for one another, it had always come out wrong. Led to them fighting. Led to Shinji—

“ _Tch_.”

That sound had been the death knell of more ‘reasonable’ conversations between them than Akihiko could count. Than he could remember. One of them tried to tell the other something, there would be a miscommunication, someone would lose their temper first—the blame shifted back and forth like the ball at a tennis match, and they both knew it—but eventually it would just come to a certain point and Shinji would make _that_ sound…

The only problem was he wasn’t the exact same person as he’d been then.

Another long, cavernous silence stretched between them. The sound of the city filled it slowly, along with the burbling noises of some pigeons hidden away in some unseen alcove nearby. The last time Shinji had dismissed him that brusquely it had lit a fire in Akihiko’s gut that had resulted in the both of them walking away with bruises, but this time it just left him feeling cold and empty.

“Ak—”

“I’m glad you’re up.” Akihiko huffed, slowly pulling himself to his feet, focusing on unclenching his left fist. His muscles screamed with the effort of releasing that tension, but he gritted his teeth against the pain. “I...we were worried that you wouldn’t wake up.”

“For fu—”

“You should keep an eye on your health, though. Looks like you still need to build back some muscle mass.” His eyes raked over the skyline as he tried to find something else, _anything_ else to look at. Anything but the other man.

“ _Goddammit A_ —”

The roof access behind them slammed open with enough force that Akihiko jumped, the cold pit in his stomach giving way to a hot wash of embarrassment. Mitsuru had caught up with them and she was, for lack of a better word, _pissed_.

  
“You two. My office. _Now._ ”


	10. After

“I’d  _ like _ to say that I can’t even pretend to understand what happened.”

Akihiko winced a little, shifting uncomfortably in his seat and licking his lips nervously. The staccato rapping of Mitsuru’s carefully manicured nails against the varnished top of her mahogany desk was a death knell for his dignity. He felt small, even though he was just barely squeezed into one of the high-concept office chairs usually reserved for visiting employees.

“Unfortunately, I have some suspicions.”

“I’d love to hear your take,  _ miss president. _” Akihiko studiously ignored the way Shinji was glaring at him, staring into the glass of ice water he’d been curtly offered. “‘Cause I’m in the fucking woods right now.” 

“Akihiko.”

He took a quick sip of water to hide the way his muscles jumped. If he hadn’t lost it during the Dark Hour simulation, they wouldn’t be here now. None of that would have happened. He was sure that some instrumentation had caught the anomaly, the Shadow,  _ whatever _ it had been.

“It’s my understanding that you have been suffering under some degree of mental fatigue since returning. It would seem that I had not properly accounted for that before allowing you to take part in the simulation. For that, I sincerely apologize.”

It took everything Akihiko had in him not to gape, finally looking up to see Mitsuru shake her head, her eyes on the desktop and her expression troubled. He’d expected some kind of lecture, possibly a pointed series of questions asking about what had happened...not _ that. _

“We still don’t understand the effects of the artificial Dark Hour as much as we could.” Mitsuru sighed, a hand coming up to her chin as she considered him sympathetically. “Takeba had a similar stress response when we exposed her for the first time, but it was less pronounced. I had thought her to be the outlier, but it’s obvious now that making such an assumption was irresponsible.”

_"Bullshit, _ Kirijo.” Shinji’s boot thudded against the plush carpet as he sat forward all at once, venom dripping from every syllable. ”That was a full-fucking-blown panic attack, and if you’re trying to tell me that it happened because of  _ one fucking minute _ in your shitty empty room you’re out of your gourd.”

Another stab of panic, sharp and quick enough to knock Akihiko breathless for a moment. If Shinji convinced Mitsuru that there was something  _wrong_ , he wouldn’t be allowed to try the simulation again. He opened his mouth to argue, to say something about what he’d seen. They’d understand why he had been so shaken if he told them what he’d seen. 

But…

_ I̶'̸̴m n̷͠͝-̵̢n̕e͢͠v͞er͟ g̵̕͠o҉o̡d ̕͜͡e͡ņ̛҉o̧ų̸gh!͟͝ _

The smell of ozone.

_ Ḭ̶͒͊'̸̳̐ṁ̵͓ ̷̺̤̇s̶͚̃ͅ-̴͔͆̄ŝ̸̯c̷͍̅ả̶̧r̸͖̦̾e̵̍̈́ͅd̶͚̑!̵̪͌͛ _

The bitter taste of bile.

**_T̵̲̪͍͗h̵̞̟̼͈̃i̷̦̯̐͑̒s̷̡͍͔̏͂̒ ̵̡͙͒į̶̙͖͑́̉̕s̶̜͓̿̏̚͝ ̸̠̥̓̓̔a̸̱͎͕͗l̷̛̳̰̠̃̊̈l̶͙̬͛ ̵͑̒̚ͅỳ̶̭̱̄̂o̷̜̠͇̥̾́͐͘u̴̯̓ ̵͓̦̿ā̵̢̺̯̅͐̋ͅr̶̫̗̍ę̶̳͙͌̓.̶̝̈̇̽̅_ **

“It wasn’t a panic attack. I’m not sure  _ what _ it was.” Akihiko huffed softly, fighting to smile, trying a laugh he hoped didn’t sound too strained. “I forgot what it was like...it was more intense than I remembered. Once the simulation stopped I just felt like”—he waved his free hand vaguely, flexing his fingers and feeling the damning tension in his tendons—“I was full of too much energy. It was a little too much.”

“If you fucking expect me to believe—”

“I’m fine now, aren’t I?” Akihiko huffed, shifting his gaze enough to catch Shinji’s eyes for a second, surprising himself with the sudden strength of his tone. “What was  _ your _ first time in the simulation like?”

An ice cube in his glass cracked; the sound seemed gunshot loud. For a long moment both Mitsuru and Shinji avoided his eyes as completely as he’d been trying to avoid theirs. They had just as much to hide from him. Something neither of them thought he would be able to handle.

The air seemed to fill with the sound of static.

“There then.” The words seemed to come without effort, like someone else was doing the talking, but Akihiko could at least recognize his own voice. His hand reached out and put his cup down with almost exaggerated care, the soft clink of the expensive glassware against a stainless-steel coaster seemed to come from somewhere farther than a few feet away. “I’ll do better next time. For now I’d like to get cleaned up. Maybe get some rest.”

“...Of course.” Mitsuru’s voice was low, softer than it had to be. She straightened up a bit, squaring her shoulders like she was bracing herself for something. “Perhaps...we should all sleep on this and see what tomorrow brings.”

“...It’s only six-fucking-thirty. But sure.” Shinji snorted, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he stood up from his seat, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor. “Tomorrow.  _ Sure." _


	11. Rest

If there had been a Shadow in the room, Mitsuru’s equipment should have picked it up.

If Mitsuru’s equipment had picked up a Shadow, she would have said something.

Because Mitsuru hadn’t said anything, her equipment hadn’t picked anything up.

What had been in there with him _couldn’t_ have been a Shadow. Or at least, no Shadow like any of the others they’d ever encountered.

The four thoughts had continued running over and over through Akihiko’s mind since he’d returned to his borrowed room, cycling one after another as he’d showered a second time to wash the smell of fear and sweat off of his skin. He was no closer to figuring out any answers, but obsessing over _those_ problems had helped to drown out the fifth one that he desperately wanted to ignore; the problem that still managed to wedge its way to the forefront of his mind regardless of his efforts.

He hadn’t _been there_.

He hadn’t been around when Shinji had woken up from his coma. He hadn’t been around when Mitsuru had started experimenting with the Dark Hour simulations. He hadn’t been around to know who had participated in the first trials. Hadn’t been around to offer support, to participate, to _help_.

He’d been travelling. He’d been selfish. And now that he’d come back, it was becoming more and more obvious that he had nothing to offer anyone, much less Shinji and Mitsuru. It showed in the way that he was just taking up space. The silence he’d left behind him when he’d walked out of Mitsuru’s office.

There was a knock on the door to his room. The sound was loud and sharp enough to snap Akihiko out of his thoughts, canned laughter from the television washing over him as he resurfaced into the real world. He reached for the remote to turn it off, but another, louder knock stopped him halfway. The variety show could stay on, he supposed. It might seem strange for him to have been sitting quietly in the dimming light.

“We need to talk.”

More studio laughter broke the silence. Akihiko stepped aside to let Shinji past, the scent of cigarettes and something spicy wafting with him. No fighting in the hall, at least. Mitsuru would be able to hear them if she was in her suite. They could at least agree that they didn’t want her mediating between them. Not now.

Akihiko took the time to close and lock the door before moving to join the other man. Shinji was standing in front of the television with his arms crossed over his chest, frowning as a man and woman team danced their way through a complicated gag routine. Akihiko took a moment to watch as well, actually paying attention to the screen for the first time in hours.

“This is the kind of shit you watch these days?” Shinji gestured vaguely at the program without looking over, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I was channel surfing.”

“Waste of fucking airwaves,” the other man huffed, reaching down to the remote to switch the television off. “Can’t even learn anything from shit like that.”

“Not everybody watches TV to learn things.” Akihiko shrugged, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, just watching for now. He was surprised by how calm he felt. How clear his mind seemed. He couldn’t wait for the other shoe to drop.

“That’s the fucking problem with society today. Nobody fucking _learns_.”

“ _God_ , you sound old,” Akihiko couldn’t help but laugh, carding the fingers of both hands through his hair and tugging just enough to feel the prickle across his scalp. Everything that had happened earlier that day, and they were just... _talking_.

“I’ve earned it,” Shinji snorted, digging into one of his pockets and coming up with a carton of cigarettes. Akihiko watched numbly as the other man tapped one free and put it to his lips, producing a metal lighter out of what seemed like thin air. They locked eyes just before Shinji lit the flame, the darker-haired man seeming to dare him to say something, to stop him. Akihiko just shrugged, turning away for long enough to find something for Shinji to tap the ashes into and returning with the porcelain soap dish from the bathroom.

“You wanted to talk, though.”

“Mn.” Shinji took a long draw from the cigarette, easing himself down into one of the armchairs and gesturing for Akihiko to do the same. Akihiko put the soap dish down on the coffee table in front of the other man, perching on the edge of his chair and resting his elbows on his knees, wary. They’d never sat down to talk before. Not in his recollection. “I wanted to get to the bottom of whatever the fuck happened out there today.”

“Nothing happened,” Akihiko bit the words out a little too quickly, and he knew it. It was harder to keep things from Shinji without having Mitsuru’s legendary composure to mimic.

“...You’ve always been a bullshit liar, Aki, and you fucking know it.”

“So what, you’re suddenly Mr. Sensitive? Here to talk to me about my feelings?”

The look Shinji gave him was long, evaluating, and unimpressed. Akihiko felt shaken, knowing he was in the wrong and surprised that Shinji wasn’t rising to the bait. When was the last time they’d had a serious conversation? When had he last been on this end of a ‘talk’?

“Yeah. Can’t talk about my own for shit, but _yours_ I’m all fucking over.” Shinji leaned forward to tap a little ash into the soap dish before settling in, lounging back in his chair like he owned the place and stretching his long legs out in front of him. “I know what ‘avoiding my feelings’ looks like, and ditching the country for two fucking years to strong-man it around the world is a pretty A-1 example.”

Akihiko huffed, staring down at his hands and worrying his lower lip in his teeth as the familiar creep of tension started tightening his gut. “More productive than hanging out in dark alleyways and doing drugs.”

“Yeah, sure. You get to look like a brick shithouse instead of winding up in a coma in the hospital.” A creak from the armchair; Akihiko could feel Shinji’s languid shrug without needing to look over. “But you know what? I _dealt_ with my emotional shit in the end. I fucking _came to terms_ with it after all that shit. I ran from everything, fucking did my best to avoid it, then it all fucking caught up with me and now”—Akihiko glanced over in time to see Shinji gesture expansively, a thin line of smoke trailing behind his cigarette as it swept through the air—”done. I made up my fucking mind that night. I owned up to what I’d done; wanted to finally fucking _own_ what I did instead of letting it own me. I finally took responsibility, and even though things went to shit, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Shinji shook his head, taking another long drag from his cigarette and grinding it out in the soap dish before exhaling a thick plume of smoke that slashed through the air, catching one of the last, orange rays of sun.

“It was dumb fucking luck when my watch caught the bullet that shoulda killed me. But even if it hadn’t, I made my peace. And like fuck I woulda let that asshole kill a ten-year-old.”

Akihiko took a moment to digest the words, turning them over in his head and appreciating their shape. The way they weren’t his own. He was still tense, still expected the moment to fall apart at any second, but...the seriousness of the conversation—of Shinji’s tone—wasn’t something he was willing to take for granted.

“I should have been there.”

“Fuck, Aki, not this shit again.”

“I should have, though.” He shook his head, resignation heavy in his voice. “That night. When you woke up. I should have been there.”

“What the fuck would you being there have changed?” Shinji snorted, his fingers toying with the lid of his lighter but his eyes sharp and focused on Akihiko’s. “How would you getting shot too that night fixed anything? How would you possibly getting killed that night instead of me, or fuck, _along_ with me, made anything _better_?”

Akihiko fell silent. What could he say to that? He’d been eighteen, stupid, and bull-headed. They both had. And sure, they’d been better prepared to fight than some, but being able to box, being able to summon a Persona, none of that had _mattered_ in the face of Takaya’s _real life gun_. Two years of obsessive training had taught him how to handle armed opponents in hand-to-hand combat. He’d thought that he’d understood the risk of death that came with fighting Shadows, with saving the world, but he’d never _once_ considered the risks of dying because a _man_ with a _gun_ decided to try to shoot one of them dead.

The irony wasn’t lost on him.

“If that’s what’s fucking with you, grow up.” Shinji huffed, tucking his lighter back into his pocket and crossing his arms solidly over his chest. “If you want to be everybody’s fucking hero, volunteer as a firefighter or join up with the cops. That officer Mitsuru conned into working with SEES, Kurosawa, he’s a fucking detective now and he’ll probably put a good word in for you if you want. But it’s time to fucking _stop_ killing yourself over shit like this. So you fucked up in the past? So what? Getting buff isn’t gonna fix that. You’re too smart to fucking think that looking like you can bench a fucking truck _now_ could’ve saved me. Or Miki.”

“I _know_ that. _I know_ ,” Akihiko licked his lips, clearing his throat as he tried to force the words out. “I…”

“...You gotta let it go, Aki. It’ll eat you alive if you don’t,” Shinji sighed, shifting to get to his feet and stepping a little closer. Akihiko couldn’t bring himself to lift his eyes from the floor, which left him staring at the scuffed leather of the other man’s boots. “I know, I almost let it. You saved the fucking world. Now it’s time to move on.”

Akihiko closed his eyes, cracking his knuckles in what he knew was an old nervous tic. The thumb of his right hand traced a scar that ran a semi-circle around the middle knuckle on his left; the remnant of some long-forgotten scuffle from his childhood.

“When we thought that you were going to die, I told myself that I had to figure out how to go on without you. _For_ you, I guess. For everybody. I kept myself going because there was always something that needed to be done. Because we had to save the world. And then we _did_. _He_ did. And after that there was nothing left to do. Except...wait.”

He opened his eyes again, taking a deep enough breath that his ribs ached and looking up at Shinji’s clouded expression.

“I’m bad at waiting.”

“...No shit, Sherlock.” Shinji’s tone was harsh, but his eyes softened, just a little. Akihiko worked up the nerve to give the other man a watery smile.

The smile wavered for a moment when Shinji reached out and carefully, tentatively, brushed his thumb against Akihiko’s forehead, just at the outside tip of his left eyebrow—over the scar left behind from a boxing match during his senior year at Gekkoukan. The touch sent a quick, shivering buzz up Akihiko’s spine, sensation that turned to a slow, warm current that roiled through his veins as he leaned a little forward, butting his temple into the other man’s cool, calloused palm. He felt _tired_ suddenly, like the point of contact had stripped him of whatever had been charging his nerves.

“...Fuck, Aki,” Shinji sighed, his voice soft and low, his fingers curling lightly against Akihiko’s scalp. “You need a fucking keeper more than I do.” The gesture somehow reminded Akihiko of the times he’d watched the other man scratch Koromaru’s neck...but the feeling of contact was too good to complain about.


	12. Comfort

Akihiko laughed and the sound came out just the way he’d hoped it wouldn’t; watery, shaky, soft. It caught in his throat, hiccupped into what could almost have been a sob right at the end. Shinji’s fingers paused for a moment, his hand sliding down until his palm was resting gently against the nape of Akihiko’s neck, cool and real and  _ welcome _ .

“...I got you.”

Akihiko nodded, reaching out and taking a light hold of Shinji’s turtleneck, feeling the knitwork stretch just a little; the solidity of the other man’s skin underneath. 

Of course Shinji had him. Shinji always caught him.

Maybe...he’d always _wanted_ to.

“You look fucking exhausted.”

The laughter sounded better this time, if a little giddy; breathless for new reasons. Akihiko’s head spun, relief and cautious happiness knocking his thoughts into a pleasant jumble. “I _feel_...uh...I don’t really know how I feel. Should probably go walk it off or something…”

“Uh uh. Nope. Your ass is staying right here.” Shinji snorted, his hand shifting to Akihiko’s shoulder where it gently but insistently pushed. Akihiko hadn’t been about to stand, but the steady pressure made it seem impossible to start trying. “I’m surprised you can even fucking _move_ right now after climbing nearly forty fucking flights of stairs.”

“I’ve done worse.”

Shinji made a short, disgusted noise, shaking his head and shifting to settle in on his knees, frowning up into Akihiko’s face. “Of course you have, you fucking idiot. Don’t tell me about it, hearing about how you piggybacked a Tibetan monk through tiger-infested forests or punched bears in Siberia will literally fucking kill me.”

“I—”

Whatever Akihiko had been about to say fizzled out into multicolored sparks, lights that seemed to blink off and on in front of his eyes even though his vision was blocked by the way Shinji’s hair got stuck between them. The other man’s mouth moved against his; warm, insistent, pushy. After a second too long, Akihiko found himself leaning into the kiss, turning his head and inhaling shakily through his nose as the hand Shinji had left on his shoulder shifted, slid heavy against his neck and clasped the base of his skull, tugging him in that little bit closer. There was nothing like _romance_ in the kiss, but they’d never had room for romance in their lives. There’d been little enough room for both of their egos, and it showed in the way they fought with tongues and teeth even though this was one of a handful of kisses Akihiko had ever had and he didn’t want to think about how many Shinji had had before this—

“Earth to Aki. You in there?”

The husk of Shinji’s voice snapped him back to the moment. Akihiko licked his lips distractedly, tasting cigarette smoke and better, and leaned in for a hungrier, hotter kiss without answering. Shinji didn’t push him away, tugging him closer instead and sliding his free hand up underneath Akihiko’s shirt, shoving it out of the way and getting caught up on tracing a ridge of scar tissue with a curiosity that coaxed a low, quick moan out of Akihiko’s throat.

“What the fuck”—Shinji pushed, twisted, shifted his weight and suddenly Akihiko was lying flat on his back, sprawled out over the sofa with Shinji perched over him, settled between his legs, pulling his shirt clumsily over his head and getting it snarled around his forearms, caught on his wristwatch and hooked over his strangely nerveless hands—“am I supposed to do with you?”

He didn’t give Akihiko the time to try to answer, pressing in close and biting down on the side of Akihiko’s neck, the press of his teeth sending a shattering wave of heat rushing through his whole body. Akihiko’s hips shook as he pressed his face into the side of Shinji’s head, his breath ruffling the thick softness of the other man’s hair as a shuddering cry was shocked out of his mouth.

“‘S all it takes to make you come…?” Shinji huffed, his free hand sliding down and tugging at Akihiko’s pants, unbuttoning and unzipping the fly deftly, those long fingers sliding against hot skin and slick wetness. “‘N’ you’re still so fucking hard... _shit_ …”

“Sh-Shut up I—”

“‘S good…” Shinji growled the words into Akihiko’s ear, biting at his earlobe, shocking yet another embarrassingly hungry noise out of him. “ _Fuck_...Aki…”

Shinji’s knuckles brushed against his length, he shivered, _pulling_ until there was a creak and tear of fabric somewhere overhead and his hands were free and he could claw his blunt nails against Shinji’s broad back, feeling his fingertips snag on Shinji’s turtleneck, desperately, needily pulling until he could feel hot, smooth skin. Akihiko ran his palm up that notched spine, pressing them as close together has he could, needing the other man’s warmth, needing to ground himself in _this_ —in Shinji—as the other man pressed in that much closer, wrapped his fingers around both of their lengths, started rocking his hips with the same hungry desperation Akihiko could feel boiling in his blood.

“Oh God...Sh-Shinji, _God_... _Shinji_ …”

Everything else was lost in a white-hot rush. Low, hungry promises, choked words of praise, the solid feeling of another body and the comfort of knowing that the knots of bullet scars under his fingers hadn’t been the end—not _The End_.

Akihiko passed out with his arms around Shinji’s chest. And for the first time in years, he didn’t dream of gunshots.


End file.
